“I’m trying to picture it,” he said. “But I just . . .”
He trailed off and I asked, “What? Can’t imagine me in a cheer skirt?”
“No, that’s an image that I can conjure all too easily.”
“Of course you can. Men.” I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t mind so much. There was something empowering about knowing that I could attract a guy like him. Even if he had no idea the crazy he was getting himself into.
“But seriously . . . a cheerleader?”
That seemed like a lifetime ago. A different me.
I hated thinking about the past. Every time I did, I felt heavy, like gravity had doubled and instead of just holding me to the Earth, it flattened me.
I couldn’t explain why, but the words flowed with him. I said, “I spent a long time pretending to be something I wasn’t.”
He started pulling at the material again, and I could feel the stretch of my skin followed by the trickle of fresh blood. He wiped the cloth over the cut tenderly, but my skin was so sensitive. I tried my hardest to keep from flinching when he touched me, but I failed a few times.
“At least you stopped pretending. A lot of people don’t.”
Had I really? I’d just traded one kind of pretending for another.
I needed a distraction . . . from the past and the pain. I clenched my eyelids closed, and said, “Your turn, Golden Boy. Sing for me.”
He dipped the washcloth in the bowl again, and I listened to the droplets falling as he wrung out the rag. The water was warm and soothing on my skin until he started pulling at the material again. I held my breath, and heard him start to sing.
His voice was strong and clear. He sang quietly, but the deep notes rumbled in his chest, and it gave me chills.
“No matter how close, you are always too far
My eyes are drawn everywhere you are.”
His knuckles brushed my bare back, and my muscles tensed and shivered like a plucked guitar string. My breath caught in my throat, and I barely felt him pull my coat the rest of the way off.
He rewet the rag, and I waited for him to start singing again, but he didn’t. He sponged at one scrape, and then another . . . silent.
“Is that all I get?” I asked. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“As bizarre and . . . stimulating your cheertastic confession was, I’m going to need a little bit more before I start baring my soul.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. The greedy bastard.
I gave an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t think of what else to tell you.”
“I believe the word dirty was thrown around earlier.”
I was unnerved by how scared I was at the thought of spilling my secrets to him. Normally, I could care less what people thought of me, but with him it was different.
“I got my first kiss from my babysitter’s son when I was five and he was seven. He kissed me and then pulled my hair.”
He chuckled, and dabbed at a scrape just above the waistline of my skirt.
“We have different definitions of dirty.”
I smirked and added, “To this day, nothing turns me on more than when a guy pulls my hair.”
There was silence above me, and his hand stilled against my back. I would have killed to see his expression.
He cleared his throat, stood, and put a few feet between us.
“Bandages?” he asked.
I’d reduced him to one-word communications.
“Bathroom cabinet. At the end of the hall.”
I bit down on my lip but couldn’t stop the wide smile that stretched across my face. I told myself that there was nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting between Cade and me as long as it didn’t cross beyond that. Mace flirted with other girls all the time. Neither of us was the jealous type, so it was cool. And Cade would be out of my life after tomorrow anyway.
He took several minutes to return to the living room, and by then I’d convinced myself that being here alone with him wasn’t a big deal. Our kiss wasn’t a big deal. The nauseatingly goofy grin on my face wasn’t a big deal. I deserved to relax and loosen up after the day I’d just had.
It was harmless, really.
“I found some ointment, gauze, tape, and scissors. I figured that would be better than individual bandages, since there are so many scratches. The good news is none of them are very deep. There are just a lot of them.”
“Sounds fine. Now where’s the rest of my song?”
He knelt beside me, and I could just see out of the corner of my eye the way his dark hair fell onto his forehead as he bent over me. I closed my eyes as he began rubbing the cool ointment on my skin.
“About that . . .” he began. “I really don’t—”
“Come on, Cade. A deal’s a deal. Besides . . . I’m in pain.”
I lifted my head a little and gave him my best pout over my shoulder.
He glanced up at the ceiling and shook his head. “You’re dangerous.”
I liked danger. And this . . . this was addictive. Making him want me.
It was because it was wrong, because we were so different, that it felt so exhilarating. I laid my cheek against the cushion and closed my eyes, enjoying the luxurious feeling of his fingers coasting across my back.
“You might as well start again from the beginning,” I said. “So I get the full effect.”
It took a while for him to start singing, like he had to talk himself into it. But when he did, his voice was just as intoxicating the second time around. It was rich and resonant, and it rooted into my soul.